


Marching On

by Leopards_Bane



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Black Parade (album)
Genre: 1st POV character, Other, Slightly Gory Imagery, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopards_Bane/pseuds/Leopards_Bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Black Parade Marches On...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marching On

**Author's Note:**

> Im not even sure whos telling the story, but its kinda Gee in my head so I tagged him, but it could easily be anyone the others to you dear reader :)
> 
> Some italics are lyrics from the songs off the album, others are just things in his memories as he tells his story.

~~~

Whatever anyone else says... life is the hardest thing to live.

I know because I’v been there.

I’m not anymore, but, that’s another story.

This story, is how I got to where I am now. 

The Black Parade came to our town that day. I begged to go see it. Finally I got the chance to sneek away from the family gathering.

I stood and watched as the solders marched on, the dark rings around their eyes, like their souls had been sucked out and fed on by passing ravens.

I wanted so much to be a part of the Parade, but I knew if I asked everyone would tell me no.

I saved up what little money I could get a hold of; coin lost in the streets or under the sofa, even worked for some of it. But little by little I was able to get enough to buy a pass, then I would be able to join and March if I wanted too.

What they don’t tell you, is what you have to give up.

_Weary._

Which is everything from your past. From family names and faces, to the toy you played with til it fell apart, every memory that made you who you were, has to be taken away. Otherwise you can’t function in the Parade. Not like you need to anyway. Not like _they_ need you to.

_"You wont feel a thing."_

It hurts as they dig around in your mind, asking questions about the things they leech away like a sickness, gangrene and seeping wounds. Cut down to the pearl white bone to the things that matter...

_To carry on._

For some reason they always had to work harder on me, I could still rememeber after ever session, the things they wanted rid of. Always little things; like a flash of colour, or a voice. And of course that would lead to other things showing up. Make it harder to do what I had to. 

_Carry on..._

But finally, I guess we dug deep enough to satisfy them. 

So now I March at the head of the Parade, as proud as any of the others, and they all follow me now of course. 

It has been so long since I thought back on that time when all this started, but a flash of colour in all the greyness of the Parade, a voice remembered for only a second is all I need.

And still we March, and we carry on, because we can’t do otherwise. It’s what we are made for.

And maybe someday, you will take your son to see a Marching band... 

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> my brain is sick yeah? ;p


End file.
